Bardullah stalked through the stone hallway. His steps were muffled by a plush, gold-threaded carpet beneath his feet. Large windows to his left looked out over a wide expanse of the Gwyanian mountains and the town of Edge far below, the City of Festivals.

If he looked farther, he could see the plains of the Enden horse lords to the northwest, the Brulhulan mountain range snaking its way directly north, and the endless wastelands of nomads to the northeast. His adviser was talking to him as he quickly made his way through the hall.

“Sir, we should be firm and angered, but not childish. We must show our hostility toward his actions and draw a firm line, but we mustn’t get caught up in the moment.” He shuffled through some papers in his bony hands and pulled one out. “This is most unacceptable behavior of Toamla-Kegol; he’s played far too many tricks on us as it is. He makes a regular mockery of us. I say we should impose some sort of additional trade tax on their goods. Perhaps then they will deal with us more seriously.”

Bardulla appeared to pay the man no heed. He suddenly stopped before a large pair of doors with royal guardsmen on either side. He snapped his fingers.

“Open it.”

“Sire, he says he doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

“He lost that privilege when he came unannounced and disturbed an entire town. Open it—now!”

Each guard took ahold of the large rings set in the massive stone doors and pulled. Even with their weight, they swung open easily.

Inside was an incredibly high, vaulted ceiling. The space was a hundred yards across, and the smooth gray stone was adorned with many rich tapestries stretching from ceiling to floor. A large dragon lounged lazily off to one side of the hall.

At Bardulla’s entrance, the tip of the dragon’s tail twitched irritably. He strode in and looked around.

“Toamla! Where are you?”

A deep sigh came from above, in the stone arches of the ceiling, and the prince looked up.

A man dressed in elegant juniper green and wood brown clothing was propped between two of the roof’s supports. The top of his head was to one while he pushed with his legs against the other. He was facing the floor with a book held casually before him. There was nothing beneath him but air and a three-hundred-foot waiting time to kiss the floor.

The faint echo of a page turning reached Bardulla’s ears, and he realized Toamla was reading the book in this precarious position. Despite himself, Bardulla felt his breath catch.

Another deep sigh, and Toamla turned his attention to Bardulla and pushed a strand of forest-green hair to the side.

“Tell me, oh-so-young ruler of an oh-so-young kingdom, why are you here interrupting Kegol’s nap?”

Bardulla glanced at the dragon, who only gave him a sleepy, half-lidded look.

“Why did you come unannounced? We didn’t have time to warn the populace before you put on your extravagant show.”

“Oh?” Toamla closed his book. “I didn’t know you even saw me coming.”

The truth was, no, the watchers in Night’s Eye hadn’t seen Toamla coming, but Bardulla wasn’t about to let Toamla know that.

“You nearly caused a riot! Your actions will reflect on how we deal with your trade ships.”

Toamla tsked and tucked the book beneath his arm and let himself fall. Bardulla’s heart jumped in his throat.

Kegol stretched out his wing and caught his partner’s fall. He stepped nimbly off the wing, and the dragon pulled his wing back to his side. Toamla tossed the book onto a table and approached Bardulla.

“Now, now, young prince—”

“Please refer to me as Bardulla, if not Prince Bardulla.”

Toamla closed his eyes and nodded. “Of course…Bardulla. I was only making a celebratory gesture.”

“A celebratory gesture? What do you mean?”

Toamla grinned and threw up his hands. “Why, for a birthday, of course!”

Bardulla searched his brain for all the notable birthdays he knew of, then his eyes narrowed. “Whose birthday?”

The man let his hands pause in the air for a moment before dropping them. “Moreck have mercy! He hasn’t told you anything yet, has he? Not even his princes?” Toamla shrugged.

“Please explain yourself,” Bardulla said.

Toamla shook his head. “If he doesn’t want anyone to know, I have no right in my position to reveal the information.” A wicked gleam came to his eye, and he smirked. “An ambassador of a foreign country shouldn’t be revealing another king’s secrets.”

Bardulla stayed silent. This had caught his full attention, but he didn’t let it show. Could this have something to do with what the king was planning?

“Toamla, you have caused undue distress to our people. As such, your audience with the king will be delayed until he calls for you. Please make yourself comfortable while we deal with the results of your actions and decide on a way forward.”

He turned and walked out of the room.

Toamla turned to Kegol, and they shrugged dismissively together.

***

The inn was eerily quiet through the suppertime hours that day. For that matter, the whole city had quieted down considerably. There weren’t many in the mood for the festival after Toamla’s performance.

After Hyrestl had stormed out on Rylen, the youth had gingerly carted himself up to the third floor and sat in their dim bedroom. He’d heard a customer or two pack up their things in the guest rooms below and leave. Hyrestl busied himself with other things while business was slow. A prince had reserved the inn for himself on the twenty-eighth of Sab. Naturally, there was no end to the preparations that needed to be made. Rylen heard the innkeeper speaking to Pahanna, then their voices moved outside and down the street.

Rylen wiped his red, teary eyes and found a handkerchief to blow his nose into. He had always known he couldn’t stay in Gwyan forever, but that had always been something to deal with in the future. He had been holding out hope that things would change. The king had decreed peace with Ara-Era, after all.

Nothing was changing. Things were only getting worse. The inn would eventually go out of business because of him. And Leyla…well, she was the daughter of the head priest. She would be married off to someone in a few years. Rylen seriously doubted it would be someone who would approve of her friendship with him. That left Pahanna, but he just shook his head. Pahanna would grow up too. He’d become like any other Gwyanian.

As the day lengthened into mid-evening, Rylen mulled it over, concluding that he needed to leave. Nevertheless, he kept trying to find some shred of hope.

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Hyrestl and Pahanna came back an hour later. Rylen eased himself down onto his bed. Hyrestl came to speak to him.

“All the other shops are closing up for today,” he said, pulling out a small chest from the corner. “I think we’ll do the same and get some prep work done for that party.” He lifted the sturdy box and took it downstairs. He grunted with the effort. The chest contained gold silverware.

Rylen listened to the two bustling about downstairs. They were likely taking inventory and seeing what they needed to purchase. Whenever the prince used the place for his parties, Hyrestl always had Rylen leave entirely. It was the prince’s wish, after all. And every time, he would find himself wandering around town for hours on end. Even during the festival, he usually couldn’t enjoy himself while he was banished.

One year he had tried to watch a bear do tricks, but the bear tamer had noticed him and had tried to sic the bear on him for the entertainment of the crowd. Even the stall owners, especially the ones from out of town, would go out of their way to shoo Rylen away. Just being associated with him was bad for business.

The look Hyrestl had given him came again to his mind, and he felt his eyes grow hot. Well, Rylen would just get out of everyone’s way. For good this time.

His teeth clenched slightly, and the corners of his mouth turned down. He wiped his red eyes and got up slowly, feeling his aching bruises, and went to his own chest in a corner. He opened it and rummaged around in its disorganized mess. He moved carefully, as if moving his aching joints too far in one direction would snap his bones.

He found his travel sack and put it to one side. He pulled out a waterskin, boots, wool leggings and tunic, hood, mittens, a wool blanket, and his winter cloak. He folded these up and put them in his bag. He tensed as pain shot through his chest and grimaced until it passed. Then, he rolled up his wool blanket and packed it as well.

These were all things he hadn’t used much. They were from a time when Hyrestl had planned to train Rylen how to fetch supplies from the capital but had never done so.

He fetched the knife Hyrestl had helped Jak make for him, along with its whetstone and the small skin of oil. He sat a moment and thought, then he made sure to bring an extra pair of socks and picked up his comb while he was at it.

He went over to his desk and looked through a few things there but decided he didn’t care to bring any of the books with him. In fact, he felt that the current book Hyrestl had been forcing him to study, Political Intrigue: Twentieth Year of the Twenty-second King, would serve well as kindling. At the moment, he didn’t care how many silvers it was worth. He considered trying to bring ink, paper, and quill with him but realized the ink would likely end up spilled. He didn’t have anything to keep the paper protected from dampness, either. None of what he had on his desk was suited for travel.

He heard a door open and close and voices downstairs.

He went to the wall panels and slid one open, careful not to irritate his already-sore ribs. He looked one way down the street, then the other. Hyrestl was leaving with a basket full of laundry. Pahanna had a satchel around his shoulder and was skipping off up the street as well.

Rylen retreated and thought. If anyone caught him leaving with a pack, they would surely question him—especially Hyrestl, and he didn’t want to be confronted by him. With him gone, now would be the perfect time to leave, but he needed to act quickly.

What else did travelers bring with them? Rylen thought about what he’d seen people come into the inn with. A lantern. He picked up his sack and retrieved his money purse, hanging it beneath his tunic.

He paused, then walked over to Hyrestl’s personal chest. He opened it. It was neatly organized. Rylen didn’t have trouble finding the few pieces of money the older man kept there. He listened for a moment for anyone moving about downstairs. Rasha was still around. He picked out the silvers and put them in his palm. There were nine in all. He felt them in his hand, how cool they were and how they made a soft clinking noise. He put six of them back and dropped the rest in his money purse.

He stopped and listened. It sounded like Rasha was chatting it up with someone.

He limped down the stairs and into the kitchen. After a few moments of listening, he could tell Rasha was indeed slacking off and shooting the breeze with a couple of old farmers.

He went down to the cellar and fetched a lantern, along with a skin of oil for it. While he was down there, he grabbed a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth, a half round of cheese, and some dried meat. His pack became heavy and full very quickly.

He heard Rasha walk into the kitchen and rummage about. Rylen froze; he could feel his heart beating against his chest.

She walked out again, and he waited until she started chatting once more. He went back up and was about to leave by the side door when he spotted a wooden bowl. He grabbed it along with a wood mug, spoon, and fork.

Hyrestl and Pahanna were on an errand, but sometimes those didn’t take very long. They could be back anytime now. Especially his father: he was likely only going a couple of blocks to drop off the laundry.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and gingerly hitched his pack. He felt his chest tingle painfully from the weight, but otherwise he was okay. Though the day was only mildly cool, he pulled his hood up so he wouldn’t be recognized as quickly.

He set off, limping in pain, and took the back road that would lead him out of town. He kept to the shadows when he could. The last thing he wanted was to draw the attention of others.

He had only walked a few blocks when he stopped and turned around and took a road toward the temple.

***

Rylen used the crawl space to sneak into the temple grounds and made his way to the old temple. If he was going to leave, he was going to make things right with Leyla first.

He left his pack in some nearby bushes and walked up the steps and knocked on the door.

Leyla opened it. Warm light spilled out from a yellow crystal set in a wall fixture.

“Rylen?” Leyla looked around past him. “What are you doing here? Do you know how dangerous it is for you right now?” The light showed his swollen face and she gasped. “What happened?”

“I, uh, got beat up.”

“By who?”

“Some nobles from the light side.”

She opened the door a little wider for him. “Come on in. Pahanna is already here. Are you sure you’re all right?”

His eyebrows creased in confusion. “Pahanna?”

“Yes. Hyrestl sent him with a supplies request for the inn. We haven’t made out your yearly gift yet, so we were going to, um, give you supplies that you needed.” A series of emotions played across her face. Embarrassment, confusion, displeasure.

“Ah.” Rylen stood there feeling somewhat abashed. Leyla had already made it clear she wasn’t going to hand over the supplies, but now had to anyway. “That…wasn’t my idea.”

She fiddled with the door handle as she became frustrated. “Rylen—”

“Oh! Hey, Rylie!” Pahanna came bouncing up from behind her. “I thought you were in bed, hurt!” He had a satchel too big for him slung over his shoulder, the one he usually used for errands.

“I’m fine, just talking with Leyla.”

“What about?” Pahanna looked from one to the other expectantly.

Leyla put a finger over her lips. “It’s a secret. Just run along, okay?”

“I like secrets, though.” Pahanna grinned.

She placed her hands over her own ears. “Close your ears.”

Pahanna smacked his hands over his ears and squeezed.

Leyla turned back to Rylen. “What was in the barrel?”

Rylen sucked in a breath.

“It was—” Pahanna stopped short when Rylen shot him a look.

The boy clamped his hands over his mouth, glanced at Leyla, then put them over his ears again.

She looked between Rylen and Pahanna. “He knows?”

Rylen grimaced, and Leyla spoke firmly to the inn’s little helper.

“What was in the barrel?”

Rylen gave him a look that said Don’t you even think about telling her.

Pahanna wilted under their looks and squeezed his hands tighter on his ears and closed his eyes. “I can’t hear you!”

Leyla turned back to Rylen. “What was in the barrel? I have a right to know. You know I do.”

“No. It’s over, okay?” he said, growing exasperated. “It’s over. It doesn’t matter.”

“No. I need to know.”

Rylen opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked to the ceiling and took a breath in. “It was a keg of ale.”

Leyla blinked. “What?”

“It was ale.”

Leyla’s expression scrunched in confusion.

“Ale? I’ve never heard of anyone paying that much for ale except for…” She gave him an incredulous look.

He hung his head and nervously glanced around before confirming her suspicion.

“Blood Harvest Brew,” he whispered.

She slapped him. Rylen winced in pain. She’d hit him on the same side of the face as his bruise. Leyla gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

“I’m…I’m sorry.” She reached out to him but stopped. Her hand clasped into a fist and she brought it back to her chest. Her eyes reddened and her face went from nearly crying to angry to a grimace. “I…I…I’m sorry! I hate you!”

She rushed away from the doorway. Rylen touched his cheek gingerly and turned to walk into the gathering twilight.

Pahanna looked like he was about to cry, and Rylen waved him off home.

The young boy scampered away as Rylen fetched his sack and began his slow walk out of town. There wasn’t anything left for him here. The whole town hated him, he was destroying Hyrestl’s business and had dishonored him, and he had tricked his only friend into smuggling illegal goods.

Maybe—just maybe—he would survive to see Ara-Era one day.